


quickly

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, PWP, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>carl has plans, so they don't have much time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quickly

**Author's Note:**

> requested by **anon** as part of the [angst prompt meme](http://distractedpainter.tumblr.com/post/82169288531/another-angsty-starters-meme) on tumblr ("Please, put it down.") except this is not super angsty my b

“Quick,” Ian breathed into Mickey’s mouth. “We gotta be quick. Promised Carl I’d take him to look for a bike.”

He pushed Mickey through the doorway of his bedroom, kissing him as they tumbled towards the bed. He started to undo Mickey’s shirt, pushing it off Mickey’s shoulders as fast as he could.

“Little shit,” Mickey said back, incredulously. “He made me promise too.”

Ian trailed his mouth down Mickey’s neck, lips catching on the jut of his collarbone, and he laughed into Mickey’s warm skin. Mickey drove his hips upwards and Ian almost didn’t recognize the low whine he let out, the kind that made Mickey’s eyes grow wide and settle on Ian’s lips.

“Pants,” Ian said.

Mickey laughed at the strained urgency in Ian’s voice. “Yes  _sir_ ,” he replied, mock-saluting Ian with a flip of his hand, and Ian would be lying if he said that didn’t make his own pants a little tighter. Goddamn Mickey. He always knew how to press Ian’s buttons.

They got undressed as quickly as possible, and Ian tried to watch Mickey as much as he could, but it was hard to focus on getting his shirt off if his eyes were permanently trained on Mickey. Ian sure didn’t miss the way sex used to be between them, fast and hurried and casual, didn’t miss wondering what it would be like to go slow for once, to hold Mickey’s head in his hands and kiss and kiss and kiss and watch expressions of pleasure flit across Mickey’s face, and he didn’t miss the fear, the uncertainty, the  _I think I’m in love but I don’t know what to do about it_. Sometimes though, he missed the adrenaline rush, and it was nice to switch it up, it was nice to go fast.

Mickey sighed, as Ian made a show of pulling his shirt over his head. “Ian,” he complained. “C’mon.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.” He pulled Mickey up for another kiss, before reaching for the condoms and lube. Mickey grabbed the bottle of lube and Ian ripped open the condom packet, sliding it over his dick. He looked up, and felt every last drop of blood leave his head.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, unsteadily. Mickey had already started, already had three fucking fingers up his ass, and he was rocking back onto them, spread out on the bed. A pink flush was spreading over his pale chest, and Ian let out another stupid whine. “Mickey,  _god_.”

“Hurry the fuck up and get on me.”

“Yeah,” Ian whispered, “Yeah,” and Mickey slid his fingers out and Ian replaced them with his cock, and it was fucking incredible. Mickey twisted around him, working him, calling out Ian’s name over and over, and Ian let go. He kissed at Mickey’s shoulders and he curled a fist around Mickey’s cock, stroking it in rhythm to the snap of his hips, and then it all went to hell, faster and faster and faster, punching breathless moans out of both of their chests.

“Fuck,” Mickey panted into Ian’s neck. “Fucking,  _fuck_.”

Mickey felt so good around him, Ian was driving him into the bed, and then his hips bucked upwards and he clenched around Ian’s cock, and that was it, show’s over, Ian was coming and Mickey followed not far behind.

“Quick enough for ya?” Mickey asked, once he caught his breath and gently shoved Ian off him, and Ian just nodded, because his brain hadn’t calmed down enough to speak English, let alone form words. He knew the word started with a  _y_ , or some shit.

He was - however - functional enough to remember that they were kinda in a hurry, so Ian slid off the bed and began to collect their clothes from where they were strewn out haphazardly on the floor, and he threw Mickey’s jeans and tank top at his head. Mickey grabbed them out of the air, but then he leaned forward and snatched Ian’s t-shirt out of his hands, holding it behind his back while he struggled to get his jeans on with his other hand.

Ian narrowed his eyes at Mickey. “The fuck, man?”

Mickey gestured towards Ian’s legs. “Get your jeans on, dumbass. We’re gonna be late.”

“Give me my shirt.”

“Hmm,” Mickey rubbed his chin, pretending to think for a moment. “No.”

“Mickey,” Ian whined. “I don’t want to go to the bike shop without a fucking shirt.”

Mickey smirked at him. “What would be so wrong with that?”

Ian glared. “Oh my fucking god.” He tapped on the bed between them. “Please, put it down. Give me my damn shirt.”

“But, I didn’t get to see you naked for very long,” Mickey protested, halfway between a whine and laugh, his lips turned downwards like seeing Ian with a shirt on would be a fucking tragedy. “This’ll make up for it.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Ian said. “I think I’ve had enough of being naked in public.”

Mickey’s eyes went wide, understanding dawning over his face, and then a trace of anger, because anything that reminded Mickey of Ian and that fucking club always made him angry, always made him clench his fists, because it had affected Mickey more than Ian had realized, it had affected  _Ian_  more than Ian had realized, and he just wanted that whole fucking chapter to be done with.

“Ian,” Mickey said softly, “Shit. I didn’t. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, Mickey,” Ian murmured, leaning across the bed and kissing Mickey’s cheek sweetly, the way that made him stammer and blush and fucking melt against Ian’s lips, because Ian wasn’t stupid, he knew that Mickey hid his affection under the tough exterior, but he also knew all the ways to draw it out, he’d learned how, and that made something melt inside him, too. “I know.”

Mickey wrapped his hands around the back of Ian’s head, holding him in place, brushing his own lips against Ian’s, before letting go and handing Ian the shirt. “Let’s go get Carl,” he said, his breath warm on Ian’s face, and Ian really just wanted to stay here and kiss Mickey, but he’d promised his brother, and he always kept his promises.

They made their way downstairs, where Carl was watching TV, and he turned around to look at them, and then laughed a little, when they came down the stairs.

“Something funny, short stack?” Mickey asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You guys are wearing the wrong shirts.”

Ian looked down, and realized that he was, in fact, wearing Mickey’s tank top. He wheeled around towards Mickey, who was in Ian’s green t-shirt.

Mickey shrugged. “Think I like this better, anyways.”

“Good thing I like the way you look in my shirt,” Ian laughed, “Else, you’d be a dead man.”

Carl stood up from the couch and let out a groan, and Ian swore he could heard him muttering something under his breath about older brothers. 

Ian knocked him on the shoulder. “Let’s go get you that bike, huh?”


End file.
